


The Color of Free Will

by aloha_cowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloha_cowgirl/pseuds/aloha_cowgirl
Summary: An injured Castiel stumbles into the bunker... with wings.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 237
Collections: Demon Void Army - Family Album





	The Color of Free Will

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the tumblr Stay-At-Home prompt challenge: Feather.

From the library, Dean heard the slam of the heavy bunker door. It was late in the evening and he hadn’t been expecting anyone, however, the groan and crashing stumble made him hurry from his chair.

When he crossed into the war room, he froze. At the top of the staircase, was a crumpled creature. Black feathers stood at odd angles as the creature’s wings curled around its body. Dean reached for the gun he kept tucked beneath the map table as he cautiously approached the stairs.

But when he reached the bottom step, he shoved the gun back into his waistband before running up the stairs two at a time.

“Cas!”

The angel’s wings shifted. Beneath them, Cas lay unconscious on the floor, battered and bruised. Dean wasn’t sure what to do; Sam had taken Jack on a simple salt and burn case in St. Louis for some field experience, so Dean was on his own.

He wasn’t sure how to approach the delicate black wings, so he was forced to wrap one arm under his back and the other beneath his knees in a bridal carry.

“Man, you’re heavy,” Dean grunted as he carefully took the steps one-by-one.

When he reached the bottom, he hauled Cas into a chair, wings drooping out to either side. It didn’t look very comfortable, Dean thought, but there were more important things to focus on right now. He bent over him, cupping his face with one hand and patting the opposite cheek with the other hand.

“C’mon, Cas... C’mon, dammit,” he pleaded under his breath, “wake up. Wake up.”

Cas groaned and Dean let go of a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He kneeled on the floor so Cas wouldn’t have to lift his head.

“Jesus, Cas! Hey, wake up, buddy. What the hell happened to you?”

He could see Cas’s eyes struggling to open and mentally cheered when he finally saw impossibly blue eyes gazing down at him.

“Angels,” Cas croaked. “I—they—I don’t—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Dean shook his head consolingly. “We’ll figure it out later. We gotta get you put back together, though. Think you can make it to a bed?”

Cas nodded.

Dean pulled one of Cas’s arms around his neck and tucked his own arm around his back and beneath his wings.

“Does—does that hurt? I mean, is this okay?” Dean asked as he positioned himself to support Cas’s weight.

“It’s fine,” Cas answered weakly.

Dean’s room was the closest with a clean bed, so they traipsed through the library and down the hall. Cas leaned heavily on Dean’s side, but at least he was awake now. When he was safely perched on the edge of the bed, Dean took the opportunity to grab a med kit and a few towels.

He rolled his desk chair in front of Cas, bracketing his legs between his own knees as he laid the open kit on the bed. Cas stared somberly at the floor.

“So… I have a few questions, obviously,” Dean said, trying to lighten the mood as he dabbed at a cut over Cas’s eyebrow. “First off, where were you?”

Cas sighed. “I was in Heaven. I was trying to come back home, but there were three angels and...”

He trailed off, so Dean worked quietly, anger building as he butterfly-stitched the cut and let Cas work out the details in his head.

“They attacked you?” Dean finally asked, a sharp edge to his voice.

Cas shook his head and looked up from the floor, locking eyes with Dean. “I attacked them.”

Dean took a deep breath, letting his hands slide from Cas’s face to his neck, checking for injuries. Cas let his eyes close.

“Is that why you couldn’t, y’know,” he gestured at the bruised and bloody mess, “mojo yourself back together?”

“I suppose,” he answered, flexing his wings out behind himself. The glimmer of deep purples and greens as the black feathers moved caught Dean’s attention.

“And, uh… the wings?” he asked.

“The wings,” Cas sighed again.

He stretched them and the tips of the longest feathers brushed the wall behind him. This time, however, among the iridescent black feathers, Dean spotted dark red.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, automatically moving from the chair to the edge of the bed beside him. He reached for the wing but stopped halfway, realizing what he was about to do.

Dean reminded himself that these were _wings_. Not like the tie or the trench coat that Dean had come to know as an extension of Cas. No, these wings—these gorgeous wings—were an _actual_ _part_ of him.

“Can I…?”

The air in the room seemed to thicken. He’d figured that touching an angel’s wings, usually unseen and untouched in the ethereal plane for all of eternity, was probably a pretty intimate thing. From Cas’s reaction he thought he may have been right.

Cas nodded, a slightly anxious look on his face. “Um. Yes, you can—you can touch me.”

When his wings appeared in this plane of existence, they seemed to have burst through his clothing, leaving it shredded on his back. Dean helped him shrug off his ruined coat, using the knife he had tucked in his boot to cut the fabric until they could pull it off over each wing. They repeated the process with his jacket and shirt.

“You wear too many layers,” Dean groused, earning himself a quiet chuckle from Cas.

When the shredded clothes had been tossed aside and Cas was left bare-chested, wings spread out behind them, now unencumbered, Dean’s breath caught at the sight. 

He grabbed a pillow and tossed it toward the foot of the bed as Cas positioned himself, laying on his front, wrapping his arms around the pillow. Dean approached slowly, then carefully reached out. As soon as his fingertips touched the soft feathers, Cas flinched. Dean pulled back.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I won’t—”

Cas shook his head, looking up at Dean. “No, it’s—it’s okay. It’s just… no one has ever touched them before.” His cheeks flushed.

Dean nodded and reached out again. This time the flinch was much more subdued, followed by a slow exhale. Dean absently stroked the smooth feathers as he looked for injuries. Cas let his head fall forward onto his arms, eyes closed.

Dean traced the edge of the right wing. It was mesmerizing. When he finally came across the blood again, he carefully moved the undamaged feathers aside to assess the damage.

“Looks like a puncture,” Dean said.

Cas hummed in agreement. “Angel blade.”

“Attacking a bunch of angels on your own probably wasn’t your best move,” Dean grumbled as he tore open a package of alcohol wipes.

Cas turned around to face him, eyes bright under a furrowed brow. “You don’t understand.”

“Well, enlighten me, Cas,” Dean challenged, staring back. “Why would you—”

“They didn’t want me to come back,” Cas barked, cutting Dean off. “They think I’m interfering in God’s grand plan. They were trying to keep me in heaven. Keep me away from—from you.”

Dean was rendered mute.

“I think that’s why they fixed my wings,” Cas continued, his voice faltering as he turned back toward the pillow. “They fixed my wings in hopes I’d stay. But when I refused, something…  _ happened _ . I can’t hide them. I can’t heal myself. I—I don’t know what to do now.”

He held his face in his hands, leaning on his elbows. His wings resumed their relaxed position so Dean could reach the inky black feathers again.

Dean stroked them gently, smoothing where they’d become ruffled.

“We’re gonna make it work,” Dean promised, carefully cleaning the wound that had thankfully stopped bleeding. He tossed the alcohol wipe aside and returned to combing his fingers soothingly through the feathers. Cas let his head fall forward again, breathing deeply.

“I, uh—I’m just glad you decided to come back.”

Cas’s wings lifted and fell as he blew out a deep breath.

Dean admired the way the feathers changed color as they moved in the light. “So, black wings, huh? I thought all you angels had those fluffy white wings with matching halos.”

“They weren’t always black,” Cas said reminiscently. “As a loyal soldier of God, they were white. They began to gray when I first defied orders. It was the first sign that I was ‘ _ broken,’  _ as they called it. And, well,  _ now _ —”

“They’re perfect,” interjected Dean.

Dean could feel the tension releasing as he ran his fingers through the feathers. Cas’s head dropped back down onto the pillow with a sinful groan. The corner of Dean’s mouth flickered up into a smirk as he lightly scratched at the wing beneath his fingers.

“That feel good?” he asked.

“Very much so,” Cas said into the pillow.

He repositioned himself, straddling over Cas’s hips, holding himself up on his knees. Like this, he could reach both wings at once and there was no one here to judge him anyway. Dean noticed some of the bruises on Cas’s back and shoulders were already beginning to improve in color. Whatever the angels had done that had zapped all Cas’s grace was wearing off, he thought.

He started at the center of Cas’s back, running his hands gently over the base of the wings. Cas arched into the touch and Dean felt a rush of adrenaline. He traced his fingers along the bony edges, sliding them down into the small, soft feathers underneath, careful to avoid his wounds.

Cas shivered beneath him. Dean would be lying if he said this whole scene hadn’t spiraled into something completely different than what he had told himself it was—that he was just soothing an injured friend. But the energy in the room had evolved. There was static in the air now. Cas had taken on Heaven and the angels to be here with him—to  _ stay _ here, maybe permanently.

He let himself slowly slide lower on Cas’s back, now half sitting, half kneeling over him. He stretched his arms wide, leaning forward to reach as far as his fingers could. He was nearly laying on top of Cas now, close enough to feel the pull of his gravity. Cas tilted his head back. Dean responded by angling his own head forward to feel the warmth of Cas’s scalp against his forehead. They stayed that way for a minute before Dean spoke in a low tone.

“Cas… why? Why come back?”

His strength clearly returning, Cas turned, nearly dumping Dean right off his back. They were now sitting on the bed facing one another. Cas’s bruises had definitely healed more, though Dean’s attention was locked on the blue eyes boring into his own.

“Dean,” he said in a near-whisper, “you know why.”

Dean swallowed, his eyes burning with the potential magnitude of the moment.

“Is it worth it?” he asked, wringing his hands.

Cas reached forward, taking Dean’s hands in his own.

“Yes.”

Dean wasn’t sure who moved first, but they met somewhere in the space between them. Their bodies crashed into one another, lips against lips, arms wrapping around one another. There was a flicker of lights, and then they were lost in the darkness, enveloped in glossy black feathers, surrounded by the color of Castiel’s free will. In this world where Heaven and Hell were out to tear them apart, here in the void of Castiel’s wings, it was only them.

And it felt like home.


End file.
